


Of Drinks That Shouldn't Have Been Had

by nerdqueenenterprise



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Poisoning, Food Poisoning, Hospitals, M/M, Phil is not a smart man, handjobs, minor male OC - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 17:49:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12658434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdqueenenterprise/pseuds/nerdqueenenterprise
Summary: Phil and Chris get pretty drunk at the afterparty of a promotion ceremony. It doesn't end well.





	Of Drinks That Shouldn't Have Been Had

Chris is laughing into Phil’s neck, leaning far too heavily on him if you consider that he’s all muscle and stubbornness; there’s a hand squeezing Phil’s ass rather possessively and when Chris isn’t busy with giggling, he’s whispering horribly filthy things into Phil’s ear that he’d love to hear - only not when they’re at the afterparty for Commodore Viker’s promotion. He’s not the only one who’s drunk - in fact, Phil is probably the most sober person in the entire room, and he’s definitely tipsy.

    “Chris, what do you think about getting back to our room, hm?” He asks his lover quietly.

    “Yesss. Y’ could lick me open, eat m’ass jus’ the way you know you wanta, ‘n then fuck me, make me scream. I’d be so good for you, Phil, yeah?” Chris shifts against Phil, pressing the very definite bulge in his pants against Phil’s thigh. He gets horny incredibly easily when he’s drunk, and Phil’s inhibitions are lower when he’s been drinking. 

 

So they don’t even make their excuses - Chris merely downs whatever he’s been drinking and Phil prays he actually knows the way back to their hotel.

The instant train arrives almost immediately, and it’s pretty empty, though Chris would probably have climbed on Phil’s lap regardless. As it is, Phil wastes no time to cup his lover’s ass, pressing up against the slow grind of his hips and kiss him, tasting the drinks he’s had. Chris breaks the kiss and goes for Phil’s neck instead, sucking at the skin just above his pulse point. Phil can’t help but moan softly, tilting his head sideways to enjoy the sensation. Chris is a lot sloppier when he’s drunk, which has a wholly different edge of desperation to it with the way he’s fanning hot breath over Phil’s neck, the way he keeps rolling his hips into Phil and running his hands all over him.

 

 

They stumble into the reception of their hotel with Phil’s suit jacket already open and the first few buttons of his shirt popped. Chris’ breath is hot in his ear and he’s still talking, describing everything he wants Phil to do to him in great detail. 

When they finally make it to their room, Phil’s hands fly to Chris’ shirt immediately. He tears at the buttons a bit gracelessly, but Chris is rolling his hips against Phil and whimpering little moans into his shoulder and Phil is only human.

The second he gets Chris naked, Phil doesn’t waste a second in getting his hands on him. Chris is biting at his neck, and it’s probably going to leave one hell of a bruise, right above Phil’s shirt collar, hands in Phil’s hair and running down his body and tugging ineffectually at his shirt and groping his ass.

The buttons aren’t relenting. Fuck.

    “Chris - Chris, you gotta - fuck, hold still!”

Chris doesn’t. Chris keeps grinding his hips against Phil’s hipbone, which probably has a nice ridge to it, but not only does it put him at a bad angle (and the more Phil tries to chase him, the more he turns away), but it also leaves Phil without much stimulation.

    “Oh for the love of -” Phil grabs Chris by his lapels and shoves him against the little dresser. They haven’t even made their way inside the room yet, still standing in the entrance hallway.

Phil’s shove sents Chris stumbling, knocking some kind of decorative figurine off the dresser, but Phil’s too busy holding Chris against the wall (and trying to see straight) than that he pays much mind to the crunch of broken glass under his shoes. 

Chris drapes himself against the wall, part completely drunk, part magnificently beautiful, hair a little bit too short for Phil’s liking, but still curling nicely, eyes hooded with lust and lips red and slick with saliva, and Phil can’t help himself but kiss him, press Chris into the wall and kiss him like there’s no tomorrow. There was something he wanted to do before that, but it’s a little difficult to remember. Chris is playing with Phil’s ass like he wants to hitch him up and carry him sometime soon. There’s a reason for why that’s a bad idea, Phil thinks, but there’s also a hot tongue in his mouth.

They make it to the couch eventually. Phil’s head is spinning and he’s feeling vaguely sick, but he still has to get further than three buttons open on Chris’ shirt, and Chris’ breath is fanning hotly over his neck, he’s managed to untuck Phil’s shirt and slip a hand under it.

Chris almost loses his balance when he stumbles against the arm of the couch, broadening his stance and as soon as he’s stable again, Phil slips a hand between his leg, cupping his dick, relishing in the way Chris moans, high and thing. He tugs at Chris’ shirt with his other hand, fingers clumsy with the buttons but slowly he’s getting somewhere, revealing the tantalizingly warm furred skin of Chris’ chest.

    “Fuck, Chrissy, just - lemme get this offa you,” Phil says, pushing against the fabric on Chris’ shoulders. It’s already sliding down, but not quite on his own, and the room is now really spinning around him. Everything’s hot, and not entirely in the good way.

Chris’ pants open easily enough, thank whatever deity for magnet strips, and of course his ridiculous lover isn’t wearing underwear, so Phil can wrap his hand around Chris’ dick immediately, Chris gasping “yes” into his ear, hips pushing against Phil’s, and the last thing Phil remembers is hot sticking come running over his fingers.

 

Fuck, he really shouldn’t have had that one unknown alien drink.

 

This has to be what dying feels like. Oh god.

He thinks there’s cool ceramic pressed against his throat, but the room is still swirling.

His mouth tastes like something died there.

He’s so hot. Not the good way. The very bad way.

Retching doesn’t bring anything up anymore, trachea on fire, but his stomach is still heaving.

 

He must’ve made it back to the bed. Did he? It might be a bed.

 

    “Phil? Phil?”

The whole world is shaking around him, head dragging against the fabric underneath him. His stomach doesn’t like that at all.

    “Fuck, Phil, are you -----------”

 

His entire body is in pain, a dull, throbbing ache that’s sharpest between his brows and stabbing pains into his stomach. 

Oh god, he’s dying, isn’t he?

His skin is tingling. That’s bad. No nerves or something.

Oh god.

 

There’s a really fucking bright light, burning through his eyes and eyelids and grating on his sensitive brain. 

People are so fucking loud. Why are they so fucking loud?

Clacking and clicking and whirring and beeping and chatter, looping in and out. His stomach is rebelling against something.

Everything hurts.

So many everythings happening.

 

* * *

 

 

The next time he wakes up, everything is so much better. It’s cool and he’s under a blanket and it’s quiet. Blissful silence with some very few beeps.

He doesn’t feel dead though, so that’s good. Probably. Maybe this is what being dead feels like.

    “You know I can tell when you’re awake.” Chris. “How do you feel?”

Phil makes a humming sound. That should get the message across, right?

    “Wanna tell me what exactly you had to drink that gave you a grade IV food poisoning?”

    “‘Th’nk it’d gli’rr.” His mouth feels funny.

    “Glitter?”

    “Mhm. T’sted fruity with … crystals.”

    “That summer bomb thing or whatever?”

    “Yeah.”

    “Anyone ever tell you you’re a fucking idiot? They had to clean half your blood, baby.”

He blinks and squints and sure enough, there’s Chris sitting on the side of his bed, squeezing his hand gently.

    “You’re hooked on just about every kind of antibiotic or whatever they got, your blood is being run through a detoxylizer, and as soon as any vital sign changes, we’ll have roughly ten doctors barging in here.”

So he’s in a hospital.

    “What happened?”

    “Well, we got back from the party, that’s how much I remember. Next, I wake up with a killer headache, reverse-ingest everything from the evening. You were on the bed, but you weren’t asleep because you were - no idea, I think you were trying to talk to me, but you weren’t responding to me, and …” Chris looks to the side, pressing his lips together. “I thought you were going to die,” he says quietly. “Fuck, Phil, I was so scared. I was so scared. And -” He turns back to Phil, this time angry. “You were. Or - you were pretty damn close, anyways. They used a lot of fancy-ass doctor words, but basically your body almost went into a toxicity shock. Another hour and .... who knows.”

    “I’m sorry.”

    “Yeah, you better be.” Chris’ voice is warm, despite the words being harsh. “God-fucking-damn it, Philip Boyce. You’re a doctor, shouldn’t you know better?”

    “Yeah, I should. I’m sorry.”

    “Well, you should still be feeling a little awful, so that’s a just dessert.”

Two sharp knocks on the door and a doctor walks in.

    “Oh, good, you’re awake, Dr Boyce. How do you feel?”

    “Amazing,” Phil says weakly, probably sounding just as pathetic as he feels.

    “Well, considering how you were about ten minutes away from a complete biochemical restructuring of at least ten percent of all your cells, you’re looking pretty alright now.”

    “Ten percent?!”

The doctor shrugs. “Your blood toxicity was at well over 50 percent.”

    “Fuck.”

    “Well put. My name’s Ali Med, I was on call for the toxic substances and poisoning department. They got me down there within five minutes of the emergency beam, and thank your lucky star they did. May I?”

Chris stares for a moment and then steps away from Phil. “Sure, yeah.”

    “You’re his next of kin, are you?”

    “Yes.”

    “Good. Then you can probably fill this in, because I doubt Dr Boyce will be holding a stylus in the next few days. The toxins did a number on his sinews.”

Dr Med hands Chris one of the PADDs he’d been carrying and goes over the readouts.

    “Well, you’re holding up well, all things considered. Vital signs are good, toxicity is going down, oxygen saturation could be better but we didn’t want to have to hook you up to O2. How do your fingers feel?”

Phil flexes them obediently. “Bit tingly.”

    “Mhm, okay.” Dr Med gets out a little probe. “You’re familiar with the bipolar electro-probe?”

    “Yeah.”

The doctor sets little electrical impulses along a set pattern on Phil’s lower arms and then repeats a similar procedure on his lower legs.

    “Well, responsiveness is looking good, but I’ll have an ARN scan run later. Gotta say, for being a doctor, you’re being an incredibly pleasant patient.”

    “It’s cause he’s feeling like shit,” Chris quips. “And possibly also because he’s either ashamed or at the very least a bit sheepish. I mean, I’m sure they run entire seminars on “don’t drink drinks you don’t know the ingredients of” in med school, don’t they?”

    “They should, at least. Right, well, you’re doing quite okay, all things considered. I’d like to keep you here for at least a week, to monitor your progress and make sure you’re recovering well. You’re on bedrest for at least the rest of the day, and when you get up the first time, I want a nurse and a junior doctor here, just in case.”

He leaves and Chris crosses over to sit next to Phil again.

    “You’re such an idiot.”

    “You still love me,” Phil replies, closing his eyes.

    “Yeah, I do, baby boy. Go sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

**Author's Note:**

> (if anyone out there gets the "ali med" reference i'll owe you so many cookies and/or highfives :DDDD)
> 
> >>> drink responsibly guys!! don't drink if you don't feel like it, don't drink if you don't know what's in it, go to the hospital if you feel sick <<<
> 
> thanks for reading!! if you liked it, please, please leave a comment. comments give me life and inspire me SO MUCH to write :,)


End file.
